Sunday

So, while, realizing that people are sheep for about the 200th time, giving up is hard to do, it really does burn, there was a primordial void, Trippin’ still hits too close to home; imbibing copious amounts of beer; marveling at the wonders of Wi Fi, modern public transit, my own cupidity, a fantastic view of downtown and a gifted cop, I found my friend up to her old tricks. Know magic. Shun magic.

you need: beer, dirt, blood, and some instruments which make a loud sound.

spill the beer on the ground. curse, loudly. invoke your personal god. spill the blood on the ground, softly. invoke your Special God. dance. take your clothes off. dance some more. think about how much you would’ve liked to drink the beer sacrificed.

pull out your favorite bloody fable. perhaps the one where little red riding hood gets eaten. sing and dance as you recite the best passages. promise the gods your most treasured item. curse your enemies.

dance some more, and drink some beer. that’s how ancient “iraqis” did it. and surprisingly, it worked more than you’d expect.